“Damme, sir!” he exclaimed woefully. “Asking your pardon ... but I left it a-lying on the bank yonder!” Sir John merely looked, whereupon the Corporal shook his head, wheeled his horse and galloped back along the road.
“‘One ’undred pound reward,’ sir!” quoth Mr. Potter, with the greatest unction, when the galloping hoof-strokes had died away. “‘Dead or Alive,’ Mus’ Derwent!”
“Aye,” nodded Sir John, “surely you run great risk to venture abroad in daylight, and here of all places.”
“Why, I dunno as one place be much worse than t’other, sir.... But one ’undred pound! Lord, I know it by ’eart.... I wish my old feäther might ha’ seed it! One ’undred pound for pore Pot’s carkiss—dead or alive. A powerful sight o’ money it be. I wouldn’t ha’ thought they’d ha’ valleyed pore Potter so ’igh-like ... theer was a ’ighwayman-chap as shot the guard o’ the Lewes coach las’ year, they only offered twenty-five for ’e!... They’ve got these ’ere bills posted arl over the plaace ’ereabouts. I know ’em arl an’ I reads ’em arl—reg’lar! But theer be a brace o’ words as I doan’t rightly onderstand, otherwise it arl seems fair enough an’ a sight more than Potter expected. First ’ere be this here word ‘male-factor.’ Well, ’tis sartin sure I bean’t no female an’ no more I bean’t no ‘factor’ ... then ’ere be t’other ’un, sir ... ‘not-orious.’ ... Well, nobody never says as I was ‘orious’ as ever I knowed.”
His mind at rest upon these two intricate points, Mr. Potter diffidently suggested they should keep company together a “small ways,” for:
“Lord, sir,” said he, “what wi’ barns an’ ditches it be few friendly faces pore Potter sees o’ late.”
Accordingly, Sir John rode on at a hand-pace, Mr. Potter walking beside him.
“Arm ’urted, sir?” he inquired, noting Sir John’s bandage.
“Nothing very much, though irksome!”